


Brom vs. Morzan: The Death of Misery

by Sigan



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 22:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19160140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigan/pseuds/Sigan
Summary: Brom and Morzan face off in Gil'ead, but this is hardly the epic duel many people fantasized. With the fate of Alagaesia hanging in the balance, Brom must find a way to best Morzan and his dragon, or die trying. No one and nothing is invulnerable, and no ward is absolutely perfect, but can Brom discover Morzan's one weakness before the dragon egg is lost?





	Brom vs. Morzan: The Death of Misery

 

The city of Gil’ead was burning; great fires raging through the city as Brom faced down a glimmering, ruby red dragon and his Rider. The night was silent, save the crackling fires and the movement of the great beast as it ravaged through the city. All the people had left, and anyone who’d lingered too long had been counted among the casualties.  
  
Brom whipped around a free standing wall and felt his cloak tear as the dragon's maw closed where he'd been standing moments before. It was difficult enough to fight a magician as powerful as a Rider while simultaneously shielding your mind, wearing heavy black clothes, and fighting a dragon to boot.  
  
"Come on out, old friend," a callous voice called as Brom leaned against the wall, unsheathing a long blade and holding it across his chest.  
  
Brom saw a flash of red to his right and he slashed, feeling his sword stop hard against the dragon's scales as it quickly pulled its snout out of sight. The sword he wielded was no Rider’s blade, so it would do little more than enrage the dragon.  
  
_'This is bad. This is really bad,_ ' Brom thought, wondering how he was supposed to steer clear of an enormous rampaging dragon that was leveling buildings with a swipe of its scaly crimson tail. _'No, Brom, think... nothing is invulnerable, no one and nothing is without fault...'_  
  
"Come out and face me, Brom," Morzan hollered as his dragon roared loudly, " _he_ is hungry and I think you are his choice meal for the night! Either that, or you may choose to surrender to us, and we shall drag you before the King to answer for the deaths of several of his personal advisors!"  
  
"Your false king and his council of traitorous Riders?" Brom asked, inching around to try and get a look at Morzan. "Tell me, why should I believe anything you say? It was always you that led me astray, even when I called you my brother, even when I would've followed you to the ends of Alagaesia and beyond, you'd still try to pull me and all of our fellow pupils into your twisted depravity. Why not call your friends by their original collaborative name… the Forsworn!”

The dragon roared and Brom whipped out of cover, thinking to strike while the dragon was still recovering from his last attack, only for Morzan to leap from the saddle and parry the blow a moment too soon.

“So, Brom, how have you been?” Morzan asked, leaning forward and pushing downward against the man he’d once used as a personal servant. “You look so very tired… are you perhaps starting to realize how futile this whole endeavor is?”

Morzan pushed up and broke Brom’s guard before striking him hard across the face with his free hand, and sending him tumbling down the pile of rubble they were standing on. Brom alighted as Morzan pounced, his eyes wide with glee and his scarlet sword slashing violently. Brom parried and backed away quickly, the two fighters now on even ground; a large road that had once led through the city, though it was now dotted with bricks and other trip hazards.

_‘One wrong step is all it will take,’_ Brom thought, his breathing slow and steady as he stared into Morzan’s eyes; one blue and one black.

His side was bruised and sore, and he thought he might’ve fractured his ankle, but Brom stood firm. Even if he was going to die, at least the egg would be safe.

“Tell me, Brom, were you the one responsible for the disappearance of my Black Hand?” Morzan asked, picking at his flawless sword in a rather carefree way.

Brom blanched. How was it that Morzan knew? Was it a lucky guess? And what was more… why did Morzan even bother to ask? From what Selene had told him, Morzan had never really been the loving type, even when she’d given birth to Morzan’s son.

“I tell you, what,” Morzan said suddenly, “you give me Selene, and I’ll give you something in return!”

Morzan sheathed his sword and turned his back on Brom, who did not lower his guard, nor make to attack the most powerful of the Forsworn. No, Brom knew Morzan all too well. He knew that it was a false opening. Instead, he waited patiently as Morzan ascended the pile of rubble, and rummaged about through his saddlebags for a moment before once more traversing the slope of bricks that was likely once someone’s home.

“Here, this is what you’ve been chasing so desperately, isn’t it?”

Morzan withdrew a cloth, and Brom’s eyes widened as his sword shook in his hands. Held rather lackadaisically in the hands of Morzan was the dragon egg that had been stolen. Morzan grinned, upon seeing he’d gotten Brom by the short hairs.

“Are you interested in a civil discussion now? A bargain with an old friend is all I offer. Tell me where Selene is, and I shall give you the egg,” promised Morzan, privately wondering how he would explain the egg’s disappearance to Galbatorix.

“How can I trust you?” Brom asked, the wheels spinning furiously in his head as he contemplated how little Morzan cared for the egg… or perhaps how much he cared for Selene.

“We were _brothers_ once,” Morzan said, a kind smile upon his face, “and I know things have changed between us, but the truth is… I’m a father, now. The Black Hand, as I referred to her earlier… she’s the mother of my son.”

_‘Oh, I know all about your son,’_ Brom thought darkly, hiding his disgust as Morzan tried to a play upon his sentimentality.

“Selene… oh, you mean the woman you were hiding in your castle?” Brom remarked casually, his sword still in his hands, kept so that the tip was between his and Morzan’s line of eye contact.

“You know of Selene?” Morzan asked, trying and failing to hide his astonishment as he hastily recovered the egg with the fine velvet cloth.

“Oh, yes,” Brom said, smiling wide as he and Morzan began to circle each other, “you could say that your castle was not the only thing I entered every other day, Morzan. She and I became… quite familiar with each other while you hunted down that egg.”

_‘I promise I’ll apologize to you once all this is over with, Selene,’_ Brom thought to himself as he used his mental probe to watch for the destruction of Morzan’s mental barrier.

“Liar,” Morzan scoffed, “there’s no way you could get into my castle, it is well guarded and fortified with the most carefully worded wards that I myself put into place.”

“True, but then again, so were Enduriel, and Formora, and Kialandi, all of whom I personally vanquished,” Brom reasoned, relishing the look of disbelief upon Morzan’s face, “are you still so sure of your castle’s wards?”

“But Selene… she was my…she wouldn’t…” Morzan stammered.

“Oh, she did,” Brom growled, “over and over. Every day and every night, I spent hours working her over, and with each passing hour I made her tell me more and more about your deepest, darkest secrets. What kind of a man doesn’t allow a mother to see her child? What sort of man throws his sword at a boy hardly old enough to walk?”

“You bastard!” Morzan howled; casting the egg aside, a loud _clack_ resounding as the egg hit the stone road and bounced away.

Casting his fancy black cloak aside, Morzan drew Zar’roc and was upon Brom in a heartbeat, his eyes wide and his face twisted into a mask of pain and rage as he swung with all his might at his enemy. It was the moment Brom had been waiting for, and in the instant Morzan attacked, his mental barriers vanished like dust in the breeze. Brom dove right in with his mind and sought to take control of Morzan’s body, but he couldn’t, for it seemed Morzan wasn’t in control of himself. His madness acted as a shield all its own, and all Brom saw were the worst moments of Morzan’s life replayed over and over again.

A sharp pain in Brom’s side brought him back to himself as he noted Morzan’s expression of insidious glee. Looking downward, his brain rather foggy, Brom found he’d been stabbed through the side. It was little more than a flesh wound, but it merited immediate medical attention. The shock of it made Brom eerily distant from himself and in that instant, in that one crucial moment; Brom suddenly felt a wave of understanding wash over him.

_‘Is that it then?’_ Brom thought as Morzan wrenched his sword free, tearing away a large piece of flesh _, ‘Is that really your name?’_

Brom felt rain start to drip, and as quickly as it had started it got even worse. Morzan used Zar’roc’s pommel to violently bash Brom across the face, but again, Brom hardly reacted, aside from falling over backwards. He was barely aware of the pain. All he saw was the face of a man he’d once called brother… the face of a man he knew better then he knew himself.

“What, not going to beg for your life?” Morzan sneered as he stood over Brom, his sword poised for a two handed downward strike. “Such a shame… or is it? Haven’t really had much of a life, have you, old friend?”

Still, Brom laid there, in awe of himself and the man in front of him. He felt tears form in his eyes as Morzan’s true name rang through his head. It was sad, and sorrowful, yet also twisted and savage, but wrapped beneath it all was an intense and suffocating need for companionship and admiration. Morzan had always loved the spotlight. He also loved being the man in charge. Indeed, it had seemed fateful that he would be a Dragon Rider, and few men could claim a more ambitious personality. Then he’d managed to find Selene, a woman who actually seemed to care for him more than her own life and child. She’d even become his most lethal weapon, just for him. But Morzan suppressed his positivity and instead replaced it with a cool and calculating demeanor he wore around his lover and child. They were a weakness, a reminder of his mortality and his base humanity. Brom knew it all, having witnessed it firsthand in Morzan’s mind.

He almost didn’t manage to save himself from the sad, gut wrenching visions of a man who was once poised for greatness. Morzan grinned and brought the sword down hard, only to freeze, his eyes wide and his body unable to move as rain dripped from his black hair and onto the face of his enemy. Brom smiled, the blood red sword inches away from his chest. He had spoken the name, commanding Morzan to stop in the ancient language, and it had clearly worked.

“What did you say,” Morzan muttered, his eyes popping with the strain of trying to move, “what are you doing?”

“I spoke your true name,” Brom uttered before carefully pushing himself up and standing before Morzan, clutching his side as his battered sword hung limp from his other hand.

“That is not my true name,” Morzan hissed, still unable to move, “my true name-”

“Has changed,” Brom said, “as they often do during life altering situations. The birth of your son has changed you, and your true name has changed with it. In the name of the free peoples of Alagaesia, I hereby condemn you to death for your crimes against humanity, and your betrayal of the Dragon Riders. You are now at my mercy, Morzan. Do you have any last words?”

Brom raised his sword so that it was levelled at Morzan’s chest, and his eyes were filled with such pain and anger that Brom couldn’t help but pity him.

“I’m sorry,” Morzan said quietly, looking at the ground.

“Sorry?” Brom asked, tilting his head. “What for?”

“When Saphira died,” he whispered, “it was my fault. I don’t think I ever apologized to you.”

Brom stepped forward. A part of him wanted to beat Morzan within an inch of his life for even daring to speak Saphira’s name, but another part, the part of him that knew Morzan through and through, knew that the apology was genuine.

“I appreciate the apology, however…”          

Morzan heard a dull thud as Brom’s sword slid into his torso, running him through as his life drained away. No pain was felt as he lost consciousness and fell forward against Brom, who had shielded his enemy’s nerves from perceiving the trauma of being stabbed.

“I will never forgive you.”

Brom pulled the blade free from Morzan as he gently laid him down. A loud, wailing roar broke over the rain washed city as Morzan’s dragon keened his mourning cry. Brom turned, unsure of how the dragon would react, only to find it laying upon the pile of bricks, unmoving. He made his way up to the dragon, and found it breathing, though its eyes were far from bright. In fact, it almost seemed as though the entire dragon was fading away. Its scales were ragged and unkempt, its horns were dry and cracked, and its talons were long and needed clipping.

“Dragon,” Brom said with his mouth and his mind.

No response came and Brom raised his sword, the bloodstained blade reflected in the dragon’s eye, which was suddenly focused upon it. The eye turned to gaze upon Brom, who expected to feel the dragon’s consciousness press against his own, but instead, he felt a strange blur, and the thoughts were all roundabout and vague, just barely cobbled into a working mentality.

“This is not just the result of losing a Rider,” Brom said to himself. His very existence was proof that life after separation with your life partner could be obtained with enough drive.

Brom stared into the great eye of the dragon, noting how dull and bleak it looked. He had thought he’d felt the lowest of the low when Saphira had died, but to lose a Rider, and one’s own name and sense of self… that would’ve broken anyone.

With a sharp thrust, Brom dealt the dragon a mortal blow and closed his eyes. Once again, he had taken the life of a dragon, albeit an enemy. It still felt wrong, though, as he considered the plight of the dragons’ low populace and wrenched the sword free. He turned away so as not to look at the carnage, and suddenly the pain in his side and ankle returned forthwith. The situation was grim at best; he was in Gil’ead, surrounded by enemies, and he had lost quite a bit of blood.

Brom held a hand to his side and cast out with his mind for any source of energy to fuel the spell. There were three, one of which was the egg, and one was Morzan’s dragon, which was quickly fading. The third was…

“Zar’roc,” Brom whispered as he carefully descended the brick pile and pulled the sword from Morzan’s hand.

He looked it over carefully, finally resting his eyes upon the ruby, which was filled with a vast amount of power. Brom dug into the energy and felt it augment his own limited abilities before he collected the words of the ancient language into a coherent phrase.

“Waíse heill,” he finally managed through the blur of blood loss and fatigue. The ocean of power within Zar’roc’s ruby was all fine and well, but no amount of energy could really beat a good night’s sleep and a hot meal for Brom. Nevertheless, the wound quickly closed and the itchy sensation it left behind was soon replaced with a dull ache.

“I’ll take up your sword, Morzan,” Brom vowed quietly as the rain beat against him and the victims of his vengeance, “I’ll take your Misery and turn it to a better purpose, so that in death you can be the man I always thought you to be.”

He cast his eyes around, until finally he found the whole reason he’d been infiltrating Gil’ead: the egg. It was lying rather precariously beneath a large wall that looked like it could fall at any second. Using Zar’roc as a walking stick, Brom limped down the road and gingerly bent to scoop it up. There were no scratches, no dents, nor any other markings of any kind, though the presence within seemed to have stirred somewhat. It pushed its mental probe against Brom’s mind and he felt a strange flickering of emotions and infantile thoughts. Knowing words would likely mean nothing to the unborn dragon, he tried his best to convey feeling of warmth, comfort, and peacefulness. The presence within still did not settle down, so instead Brom tried his best to cobble together the correct wording for a phrase to alleviate the hatchling’s concern.

“Eka mulabra ono né haina, eka eddyr onr fricai,” he crooned to the egg, speaking also with his mind.

_I mean you no harm, I am your friend._

The dragon within calmed, and finally the miniscule mental probe vanished as the hatchling once more became dormant. Brom smiled and quickly gathered together a few things, including Zar’roc, the sparse supplies Morzan had kept in his saddle, and the egg. He fastened Zar’roc to his belt, and hid the egg under the food, swathed in a blanket at the bottom of the satchel Brom had cut from Morzan’s saddle.

Leaving his own sword bent, battered, and ruined as it was next to Morzan’s corpse, Brom left the city and walked at a steady pace so as not to aggravate his swollen ankle. He came to a stop next to a lone tree atop a grassy hill in an attempt to get his bearings and peer through the pouring rain. Sadly, traveling through the rain with a broken ankle would be hard enough, and the ankle was already throbbing with pain, so instead he decided to wait until the next day to start his journey. Before he left, however, he would likely need something to take the weight from his ankle. He placed one hand upon the pommel of Zar’roc, and gestured at the tree he stood next to with the other. 

“Kverst du kvïstr un gath thäet oth pömnuria lam!”

_Cut the branch and unite it with my hand._

A branch was quickly and neatly severed from the tree, and flew into Brom’s outstretched hand, but he also noticed there were strange runes that burned into the wood. Perhaps they were a side effect of using Zar’roc’s power.

“What does it… oh lord,” Brom groaned, noting how the runes were nothing more than the words he had spoken.

“From now one I’ll just do it by hand… blasted magic,” Brom cursed, leaning against the tree with what little provisions he had, a staff, the trophy taken from a man who’d once been his best friend, and possibly, the fate of the entire world.

“First things first… I must go to Selene and make sure she’s well… then I must apologize for speaking so poorly of her.”

Brom fell asleep beneath the tree, his dreams woven through with images of a woman who was happy at the prospect of no longer being tethered like a slave to Morzan, and when he woke in the morning, the rain had stopped, but the grass was still wet and the ground was very damp. The bright sun reflected off of the water droplets and lent the scene a beautiful glow. His course was set, and Selene was surely waiting for him back at Morzan’s castle.

“Here I come,” Brom whispered, stretching as he took in the new day, “I’ll be with you soon, my love.”           

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, I've been writing fanfiction for a while now, and I wanted to try and post it on more mediums besides FF.net, so I'll slowly be working on posting my stories here as well. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Music that inspired this story:  
> Broken-Lund (the lyrics are a little grim, but the overall tone of the song is juuust right.)


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